


an elegy for the rose's thorns

by nicole_writes



Series: the pressures of love and family [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Children, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Married Fluff, Miscarriage, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pregnancy, Sylvain Jose Gautier Loves His Wife, Sylvain Jose Gautier's Father's Bad Parenting, Sylvain Jose Gautier's Mother's Bad Parenting, The Crest System, but it's a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26726293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicole_writes/pseuds/nicole_writes
Summary: “Hey,” he mumbles into the kiss when she doesn’t let him go. “Ingrid, I do have to leave.”She sighs and withdraws a little bit, but Sylvain catches her before she can move back too far. “I wish I could come with you,” she says.Sylvain tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I wish you could too, but we specified only myself, my father, and three guards.”
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Sylvain Jose Gautier, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Mercedes von Martritz, Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: the pressures of love and family [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1945132
Comments: 53
Kudos: 60





	1. i - chasing expectations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sunnilee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnilee/gifts).



> another fic I wasn't supposed to write but couldn't stop writing. This is the sequel to "dreams tied up in roses". For Sunni, since she commented that she wanted the sequel to that fic and I made it messy and also long and also two chapters... and also creds to Mish for the name of Ingrid's horse...

Ingrid pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders and reaches a hand out, uncurling her fingers. Sylvain takes her hand immediately, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the back of her hand. Ingrid smiles faintly and grips his hand back, tugging on it and pulling him closer to her. Sylvain chuckles but relents when she tugs, leaning down and pressing a light kiss to her lips. Ingrid curls her hands into the front of his coat, trying to hold onto him for as long as she can.

“Hey,” he mumbles into the kiss when she doesn’t let him go. “Ingrid, I do have to leave.”

She sighs and withdraws a little bit, but Sylvain catches her before she can move back too far. “I wish I could come with you,” she says. 

Sylvain tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I wish you could too, but we specified only myself, my father, and three guards.”

“I know, I know,” she dismisses. “These treaties are important.” She leans up to kiss him lightly again. “You’ll be great.”

“And back in a week,” he promises. 

“I’ll hold you to that.”

He chuckles. “Tell Felix I say hello, won’t you?”

“Next time you’ll have to say it yourself,” she says. 

Sylvain steals another kiss from her, his hand cupping her face as he holds this one for a little longer. Ingrid hums into it, rocking into his warmth despite the cool winter air of the outside of Castle Gautier. They linger in the kiss for as long as they dare, but then Sylvain finally has to pull back so that he can step away from her. 

“I love you,” she says to him as he starts to walk away. 

His eyes soften and he nods. “Love you too, Ing.”

She withdraws her hands into the inside of her cloak and wraps them around herself as she watches Sylvain approach the group of horsemen waiting nearby. He takes his lance from a steward and slings it over his back before mounting his horse. Ingrid bites her lip as Sylvain adjusts his mount, readying for departure and steals another look at her, lifting a hand in farewell. 

She gives him a faint smile in return and then watches as the contingent takes off, riding for the edge of the grounds to the north towards Sreng. It’s a routine diplomatic trip, but Ingrid feels sick to her stomach. She has every day for the last two weeks and none of Sylvain’s careful reassurances have made her feel any better. 

“We should be heading inside. It’s awfully cold out here,” Sylvain’s mother’s voice cuts through her reverie and draws her back into the moment. 

Ingrid turns and sees the Margravine Gautier standing a few paces behind her, bundled up in clothes more expensive than everything Ingrid had once owned combined. Her hair is styled in perfect ring curls and her blue eyes are as sharp as flints. Ingrid smiles politely and nods.

“Yes. I should get ready for my own departure.”

The Margravine’s sanguine smile slips a bit at the mention of her own impending trip. Ingrid is well aware of how Sylvain’s parents feel about her going to Fraldarius while Sylvain is north in Sreng. It’s some antiquated nonsense about how a woman shouldn’t be travelling unaccompanied once she’s married, especially to the home of another bachelor, nevermind the fact that Ingrid is going to visit Felix who couldn’t be less romantically interested in Ingrid. 

The compromise had been reached when Ingrid had agreed to ride in a carriage down to Fraldarius instead of flying on her pegasus. She’s pretty sure that Sylvain’s mother had been completely scandalized by her even suggesting flying in the first place. To appease Sylvain’s parents, Ingrid had agreed to take the carriage even though she is sure that she could get there in half the time if she flies by herself. 

Ingrid brushes past Sylvain’s mother and heads back inside of Castle Gautier, climbing the stairs to hers and Sylvain’s room. Her things are all packed already and it just takes a moment for her to summon a servant of the estate to bring her things out to the chartered carriage that waits outside. 

Ingrid takes a last look around their room and her heart already aches for Sylvain. Since they’d been married a year and a half ago, the only time they have really been apart is when he takes trips to Sreng and she stays behind with Sylvain’s mother and is driven up the walls. 

Ingrid is pretty sure that Sylvain’s mother would have locked her and Sylvain in a room together for as long as it took for Ingrid to get pregnant, but Sylvain hasn’t stood for any of his mother’s meddling ways, giving Ingrid as much freedom as she desires. They had had a conversation late one night, curled in the sheets of their bed, about children where Ingrid had confessed that she is interested in becoming a mother and Sylvain had been excited. 

They hadn’t exactly been trying since then, but they are no longer trying to avoid the possibility. 

Ingrid straightens her cloak around herself and leaves her empty bedroom, heading for the front of the Gautier Estate. Her friends are waiting for her in Fraldarius.

* * *

Fraldarius might be further south than Gautier, but it’s still the Red Wolf Moon so it’s still too cold for them to take tea out in the gardens. Felix instead sets them up in one of his mother’s old tea rooms and then is convinced by Dimitri and Dedue to take them to his study so that they can discuss politics. 

Ingrid sits for tea with Annette, Mercedes, and Ashe. She picks a Chamomile tea for herself and smiles and nods along as Annette animatedly talks about her new teaching position at the newly rejuvenated School of Sorcery in the capital. Ashe talks about Gaspard too, and how they are really working on turning the lands around, despite their previous allegiance to the Empire. 

Ingrid is glad to see that her friends are thriving in this new post-war world and that the unbridled rays of sunshine of Ashe and Annette haven’t been too tempered by the war that they withstood. Mercedes is quieter, but she offers soft comments here and there that are just as Ingrid remembers her to be. 

When their tea is finished, Ashe expresses interest in checking out the Fraldarius gardens and Annette brightens at the opportunity as well. Ingrid gives them quick directions to get to the greenhouse that had been Felix’s mother’s pride and joy. They invite her and Mercedes along, but Ingrid feels quite tired. She’s had a long day of travelling after all and Mercedes volunteers to wait back with Ingrid to keep her company. 

Once Ashe and Annette have gone, Mercedes turns to her. “How have you been, Ingrid? It’s been such a long time since we’ve gotten to see everyone.”

Ingrid touches her wedding ring. “I’m good,” she replies instinctively. “But, I wish Sylvain was here.”

Mercedes smiles softly and nods. “Yes, it’s a shame he couldn’t join us. I was more meaning to ask how you’ve been managing up there. I know that Sylvain’s parents are not the easiest people.”

Ingrid sighs. “We’ve been doing out best,” she confesses. “I’m pretty sure that we’re running out of strings to pull and excuses to play.”

“Excuses?” 

Ingrid twists her ring around her finger. “We were married in the Garland Moon with their hopes that I’d be pregnant by the following month.”

Mercedes frowns immediately. She knows a thing or two about Crest-bearing expectations herself. “Ingrid, I’m sorry. That can’t be easy on either of you.” She pauses, collecting her thoughts. “Have you two discussed children? Do you even want them?”

Ingrid smiles faintly. “We’ve talked about it,” she assures. “I think I would like to be a mother and I know Sylvain would be an amazing father, it’s just a little worrying is all.”

Mercedes is silent for a moment and Ingrid furrows her brow, studying her friend. She takes a sip of her tea and waits for Mercedes to say something, but her friend seems to be struggling on whether or not to voice a comment. 

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry if this is overstepping, but, Ingrid, when was the last time you had your cycle?”

Ingrid opens her mouth to reply and realizes that it’s been at least two months since her last cycle. She stares into the teacup she’s holding, suddenly feeling wary as she doesn’t reply to Mercedes’s question. 

“Have you had any nausea or back pain or fatigue recently?” Mercedes continues. 

Ingrid can read the subtext of the questions well enough and it makes her stomach churn uncertainly. “Yes,” she murmurs. She looks up at Mercedes. “Do you think it’s possible that,” she trails off, almost unwilling to finish the question. 

Mercedes reaches out and takes her hand. She squeezes it. “I can do a quick examination if you would like to know.”

Ingrid almost says no, but she’s already nodding before she can. Mercedes takes her teacup from her and sets it back on the table before taking Ingrid’s arm and guiding her towards the chaise lounge in the parlour. 

“Sit here. It should only take me a few moments to check,” Mercedes instructs.

Ingrid sits back on the chaise, a lump swelling in her throat as Mercedes perches on the edge of the couch, gently guiding Ingrid into an almost horizontal position as she traces a circular, glowing white rune in the air above Ingrid’s abdomen. Ingrid watches as the rune glows white and then yellow and then a faint amber colour before it fades away. 

She looks at Mercedes’s face, unsure what that means. Mercedes takes her hand and squeezes it tightly. 

“Congratulations, Ingrid, you’re pregnant.”

Ingrid sits up and touches her stomach hesitantly. “Are you sure?”

Mercedes nods. “Quite sure.”

“Oh,” Ingrid murmurs. She swallows the sinking feeling of dread in her stomach and takes a deep breath. “Right.”

Mercedes squeezes her hand. “Are you alright?”

Ingrid shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know whether to be happy or devastated,” she confesses quietly. “I wish Sylvain were here.”

Mercedes wraps her arms around Ingrid and pulls her into a tight hug. Ingrid clings to her, her throat tightening and her eyes prickling with tears. Children should be something to be excited about, but it’s honestly quite terrifying to even consider at this point. She and Sylvain are still so young and she has no idea how he’s going to react, much less what his parents will do. 

She clings to Mercedes as her friend strokes her hair reassuringly. 

* * *

Ingrid is supposed to stay in Fraldarius for five days, but after three days of hidden glances from Mercedes and the suspicious looks of Felix, Ingrid makes her excuses and calls the carriage back to Gautier. There are still four days until Sylvain is home, but she needs to be back there in their room with their things. 

Dimitri and the others hug her goodbye before she gets into the carriage, but Felix and Mercedes both linger. Mercedes squeezes her hand and kisses her cheeks and tells her to write if she needs anything. She promises to visit soon once everything is sorted out. Felix hangs a few steps away, granting the two women a moment of privacy, but Ingrid knows that he knows something. 

Once Mercedes steps away and heads back into the Fraldarius manor to escape the cold, Felix approaches her, his face schooled into neutrality. Ingrid presses her lips together and waits for her oldest friend to say something. 

“I don’t want to presume,” Felix says and Ingrid nods, cutting him off. 

“You’re not.”

He puts a hand on her upper arm and frowns, dipping his head until she can’t hide his eyes from her. “Ingrid, are you okay with this?”

She hugs Felix, pressing her head against his shoulder. “I remember,” she says, “when you were smaller than me. You hated it and you used to pull my braid because you thought it would make me shorter. I remember Glenn got so mad at you for that.”

Felix’s laugh is a short huff of air. “Yeah, he did, didn’t he.” He tightens his arms around her and Ingrid’s heart swells. 

For all of Felix’s reservations, he is a brother to her. Maybe not by blood, but she’d be damned before she ever let anyone say otherwise. He and Sylvain are like brothers too.

“How do I even tell him something like this?” she whispers.

Felix exhales slowly. “You tell him like you love him.”

“Won’t he be mad?”

“No,” Felix says shortly, drawing out of the hug so that he can stare her down with flint-sharpened amber eyes. “Ingrid, Sylvain may be an idiot, but he loves you. He loves all of our friends and he’ll love your child just as much.” He brushes back some of her hair. “He told me,” Felix continues, “way back after you guys got engaged, that he wanted to give you everything and that he hoped someday you might be okay with bringing children into this fucked up world.”

Something heavy in her chest lightens. “He said that?”

Felix nods and then he hugs her again, short and hard. Ingrid treasures the moment. “He did,” Felix affirms fiercely.

Ingrid laughs lightly to herself and rubs her eyes, pushing back tears that are prickling in her eyes. “Okay.”

* * *

Ingrid arrives back at Castle Gautier that evening and manages to avoid Sylvain’s mother around the large castle for the rest of the evening, but the next morning Ingrid is having tea in the main dining room when Sylvain’s mother arrives, carrying along her needlepoint. The Margravine sits quietly at the end of the table, but Ingrid doesn’t miss the glances that the woman shoots at her every now and then. 

Ingrid tries to focus on her novel and her tea, avoiding her mother-in-law’s gaze for as long as she can. A cool fear coils in her stomach and she breathes deeply and evenly to drive it back as she tries to relax. 

Sylvain should have been the first person to find out. Instead, Mercedes had found out first, but that had been a bit unavoidable. Felix knows Ingrid well enough that she’s not surprised that he had figured it out before she had left Fraldarius, but she had been hoping she might be able to conceal it from Sylvain’s mother until Sylvain knows and she is ready to share it with her in-laws. 

Instead, Sylvain’s mother coughs politely and draws Ingrid’s gaze to her. “No morning ride today, dear?” she asks, her voice sharp. 

Ingrid presses her lips together and tries to keep her face clear, but it’s almost a lost cause. She has been riding almost every morning of her life, but for the sake of her body, she has figured it is a risk she should no longer be taking. She doesn’t want to confess to anything here, but apparently, her lack of an answer is enough. 

The Margravine gives her a sharp, victorious smile and stabs her needle into the cloth, humming to herself. Ingrid feels ill. She drops her hands to her lap under the table to try and hide the tremors in them and she rubs a small circle into her stomach. 

The wicked glint in the Margravine’s eyes makes Ingrid close her book and rest her teacup in its saucer before she stands up, pushing out her chair as she turns to walk out of the dining room.

“Should we schedule a healer?” Sylvain’s mother calls before Ingrid can leave the dining room. She pauses, stumbling in her step and bites her lip. 

With her back turned to her mother-in-law, Ingrid straightens her shoulders. “No, everything is fine,” she says firmly. She knows that it’s probably not going to be enough to dissuade Sylvain’s mother entirely, but she hopes that it will buy her time until Sylvain and his father return from Sreng. 

* * *

Ingrid spends the next three days avoiding all of the places in Castle Gautier that she would usually frequent. She only makes one trip to the stable to groom her horse and finds that the stablehands have already done so, despite Ingrid’s insistence that she’d rather do it herself. She knows where their orders have come from. 

She avoids the library and the main parlour, reading alone in Sylvain’s empty office and writing letters in her bedroom. It’s frustrating to feel like she can’t do anything since normally, at this point, Ingrid would just go out riding, but she doesn’t want to take that risk. 

The day that Sylvain comes back is quite possibly the best day Ingrid has had since they’ve been married. She meets him on the edge of the grounds, bundled up in her warmest cloak, and Sylvain jumps down from his horse without hesitation to pull her into his arms and into a deep, warm kiss. 

Ingrid melts into him and pulls him as close as she can muster over their winter clothes and the propriety that the situation calls for. When she lets him go, Sylvain’s hair is a complete mess, but he grins at her with his dopey, love-struck grin and Ingrid is reminded why she puts up with all of this. It’s because she loves him and he loves her. 

Sylvain’s father gives them a stern look from atop his own horse, but Sylvain brushes it off, asking one of their soldiers to lead his horse back to the stable for him, claiming he’ll walk back with his wife. He curls his hand tightly around Ingrid’s and stares down her father, almost challenging him to speak against his decision. 

After a tense moment, the Margrave looks away, kicking his horse into a trot as he leads the way back down the road towards the centre of the estate. Ingrid squeezes Sylvain’s hand as the rest of the entourage follows after his father, leaving the two of them alone on the snowy grounds. 

Sylvain kisses her forehead affectionately. “Shouldn’t you have ridden you here to meet us?” he asks. “Would have been warmer, wouldn’t it?”

Ingrid laughs shortly. “Pretty sure your mother would have locked me in our room if I had attempted to get on a horse.”

Sylvain frowns, obviously confused. “What? Why would she do that? You go riding every day.”

Ingrid looks down at the ground. Her boots peek out from under her cloak. She studies the tips of them like they’re the most interesting thing she has ever seen. Sylvain’s hand cups her face and tilts it back up towards him. He’s still frowning like he’s confused. 

“Ingrid, what do you mean?”

“I’m not going riding every day anymore,” she says.

“Did something happen to Strawberry?” he asks seriously. “If my mother did something, I’ll talk to her.”

Ingrid laughs and shakes her head, touching the side of Sylvain’s face. “No. The horse is fine.”

He drops his hands to her waist, scanning her face urgently. “Then, what happened? You love riding?”

She bites her lip to hide a shy smile. “It’s a safety thing.”

He still doesn’t seem to get it for a moment, but Ingrid just keeps their eyes locked and she feels her cheeks warm as she watches him slowly put the pieces together. The crease between his eyebrows flatten and his lips part as surprise washes over him slowly.

“Ingrid,” he breathes. 

She nods. “Yes.”

“Yes,” he echoes, almost disbelieving. 

His arms loop around her waist tightly and then her feet are leaving the ground as he picks her up, spinning her wildly as he laughs in delight. Ingrid squeaks, clamping her hands on his shoulders as he holds her up, spinning her like an excited child. 

“Sylvain!” 

He’s still laughing when he puts her down and the kiss he plants on her is almost more teeth than lips and she pushes his face away, giggling at his infectious laughter. 

“Careful,” she teases. 

Sylvain’s expression sobers a bit and he slides one hand forward onto her stomach. “You’re really pregnant?”

Ingrid laughs, tears pricking in her eyes as she nods. “Mercedes confirmed it when I was in Fraldarius.”

Sylvain gasps like he’s offended. “Mercedes knew before me?”

“And Felix,” Ingrid adds.

He rests a hand over his heart, playing offended and gasps mockingly. “How could you, Ingrid?”

She rolls her eyes and his smile comes back, big and bright and warmer than any fire burning back inside the castle. 

“You’re really happy about this?” she asks shyly. 

Sylvain kisses her until she can taste his excitement and she pulls back, laughing. He pecks her forehead. 

“If you’re happy about it, I’m happy,” he assures. His expression sobers suddenly. “You are happy, right?”

Ingrid nods. “Yes.”

Sylvain kisses her again, pulling her tightly against him and they kiss until heat starts to coil in her stomach and she feels hot under her heavy cloak. Ingrid breaks away from him to breathe and he chases her, laying kissing on the side of her face and over her eyes and on her ears until she slaps a gloved hand over his mouth. 

“Stop it!” she giggles. 

He kisses the palm of her glove. “Never.” 

She rolls her eyes at him. “Can we head back? I’m kind of cold.”

Sylvain straightens up. “Absolutely, yes, we can head back. Do you need me to carry you? Should I carry you?”

She shakes her head, sighing, and just drags him down the path by his hand. 

* * *

Sylvain wants to wait to tell his parents until a bit more time has passed, he claims that they should celebrate themselves first, but Ingrid tells him that his mother already knows and his mood dampens as he then realizes that his father has also probably been informed and he agrees to tell them over dinner that night. 

The four of them take dinner in the main dining room and Sylvain sits next to Ingrid after pulling out her chair and whenever he’s not eating, he rests his left hand on her thigh under the table. Sylvain’s father sits at the head of the table with Sylvain’s mother to his right and Sylvain on his left. The Margrave spends the first five minutes of the meal just studying Ingrid as if he’s waiting for her to announce something. 

“Father,” Sylvain says finally, drawing his father’s eyes to him. Ingrid swallows the bite of roast in her mouth and drops her hand under the table to Sylvain’s. “We have news.”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” the Margravine asks without an ounce of shame, her cool blue eyes fixed on Ingrid. 

Ingrid doesn’t cow under her stare, straightening her posture further. “Yes, I am. I found out from my friend Mercedes who is a healer when I was in Fraldarius.”

Sylvain’s mother frowns. “All the more reason you shouldn’t have gone to Fraldarius at all. In fact, you shouldn’t be leaving the estate at all now.”

Sylvain cuts in before Ingrid can get offended. “Mother,” he snaps. “We have the celebration in Fhirdiad in four months and Ingrid and I will be going together.”

She glares at her son. “Absolutely not. Do you even know how far along you are?”

“Three months,” Ingrid says quietly. “Mercedes used her magic to confirm that fact.”

“Three months,” the Margrave repeats in a rumbling voice. He nods as if that is a satisfactory answer. “We’ll bring a specialist out from Fhirdiad next month to test for a Crest.”

Ingrid’s eyebrows shoot up and her mouth drops open, horrified. “What?”

Margrave Gautier sips his wine calmly. “Four months is the earliest age at which a Crest can be detected in a child. Ideally, the child will bear a Crest of Gautier and the line of succession will be set right from the start.”

Ingrid puts her hand on her stomach, feeling suddenly very ill and she can feel Sylvain’s anger bubbling next to her. 

“You will not be testing my child for a Crest,” he snaps at his father. 

Margrave Gautier scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t expect to pass these lands to an heir that doesn’t bear a Crest.”

Sylvain shoots to his feet, his chair toppling backwards with a loud crash as he stares down his father. “ _You will not test my child for a Crest_ ,” he snarls, impassioned. 

Ingrid reaches for his hand and Sylvain grips it tightly. He looks between his parents, furious. Ingrid presses her lips together and tries to gather her words, but Sylvain just reaches down, grabbing her elbow lightly and easing her up out of her seat. 

“Come on, Ing,” he whispers, “I’ll have other food sent to our quarters later.”

She stands and lets Sylvain wrap a protective arm around her as he starts to guide her out of the room. She looks back over her shoulder at his parents and sees his mother is looking down at her plate, a twisted frown on her face while his father stares after them with Sylvain’s eyes: the brown of them dark and angry. 

Once they’re out of the dining room, Sylvain sweeps her into his arms and holds her, practically trembling against her. Ingrid twists a hand into his hair as she holds him. She knows he is thinking of every horrible thing his brother had done in the name of dismantling the Crest System and all the torture he lived through as a child. It makes her feel ill. 

“I won’t let them touch you,” he promises, tightening his grip on her.

Ingrid twists, shifting so that she can kiss his forehead. “Sylvain,” she whispers. “I love you.”

He closes his eyes and basically crumples in front of her. She brushes back some of his hair and kisses him lightly. 

“Come on,” she urges. “Let’s go to bed. You must be exhausted.”

* * *

Hours later, after Sylvain has long passed out in their bed, Ingrid pulls on a slip and a silk robe with plush slippers and she sneaks out of her room. She makes her way down the hall towards the Margrave’s study and is conflicted to see that there is a light still on inside. She pauses just outside the door and takes a deep breath before knocking her knuckles against the wood. 

“Come in,” comes the deep voice of her father in law and Ingrid opens the door. 

He is seated at a heavy oak desk writing a letter, but he stops when she steps inside, his face curling into a frown. In the faint yellow glow of the candles on his desk and the fire in the fireplace, he looks like Sylvain but twenty-five years older. Ingrid takes a deep breath. 

“Make the call to the capital,” she says shortly. 

Sylvain’s father puts his pen down. “So I see you’re not as foolish as my son.”

“I will be courteous enough to allow you to test my child for a Crest, but I will not let you manipulate the line of succession from a Crestless child,” Ingrid replies flatly. “I will love my children, Crest or no, and our eldest will be first in line to succeed their father in Gautier whether they bear the Crest of Gautier, the Crest of Daphnel, or no Crest at all.”

The Margrave’s lip curls up in distaste. “Here I thought you might be coming around. I had hoped that after a year and a half you would learn your place, Lady Galatea.”

Ingrid bristles. “Margrave Gautier, you are the pinnacle of Old Faerghus. Dimitri and Felix and Sylvain and the others are ready to move past this antiquated, worthless system of Crests and Relics. You will count yourself lucky that I have decided to allow you to even _test_ my child.”

He scoffs. “And you, young lady, forget your place. As far as I’m concerned, allowing you to marry my son was a charity act to your home and to his stupid, soft heart. You claim that His Majesty wants to change the way the system works, but he’ll never have the support he needs to achieve that. Gautier will need a Crested heir and you’ll see to that soon enough.”

Ingrid’s eyes sting with tears at his sharp, ruthless words and she spins and walks out of his study without another word. She had gone in there intending to make a point, but now she feels as if all she had done was fan the flames of something that she doesn’t fully understand. She hurries back to hers and Sylvain’s room and kicks off her slippers and drops her robe onto the floor without grace. 

She slides back under the covers next to her husband and burrows into him. Sylvain stirs, but he wraps his arms around her without thinking, pulling her in close. Ingrid clings to him and takes shaky, deep breaths to calm herself. He plays with the strap on her nightdress as if confused as to why she’s now wearing one as he blinks his eyes open, frowning. 

He brushes some of her hair back tenderly. “Hey, Ing,” he mumbles, still completely drowsy. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she mumbles, closing her eyes and wishing that the whole thing would just disappear. 


	2. ii - open heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Is everything okay?”_
> 
> _Ingrid laughs at him. “Everything is fine, Sylvain, I just wanted to know if you had given any thought to our conversation from the other day.”_
> 
> _His eyes soften immediately. “Oh, the names. Well, if it’s a girl we are definitely naming her after your mother. That’s not even up for debate.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for discussion of miscarriage.

Ingrid is reading alone in the library when Sylvain finds her. He looks tired, but there’s also an edge of something else in his gaze. Ingrid lowers her book to the table as Sylvain walks over to her. She puts a hand on the cover of her book and stands up, facing her husband. 

“Ingrid,” he says, “did you talk to my father?”

She presses her lips together. She had been avoiding this conversation for as long as she could, but it appears like she can’t avoid it anymore. 

“Sylvain,” she starts quietly. 

He sighs and scrubs a hand over her face. “Why would you do that?” he asks. “We don’t have to do this,” he says. 

She walks around the table and reaches out, taking his hand. “They’re your parents, Sylvain. It would have happened eventually, you know that.”

He drops her hand and wraps his arms around her, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “I know,” he mutters. “I just hoped to deal with that myself and not put you through it. I can’t imagine my father was particularly nice about that conversation.”

Ingrid rests her head against his chest and laughs faintly. “That’s a bit of an understatement.” She tilts her head back so that she can look into his face. “Is everything okay?”

He frowns. “The Crest specialist is here. That’s how I knew.”

“Oh,” she mumbles. 

He kisses her forehead. “We don’t have to do this.”

Ingrid shakes her head. “No, we might as well at this point. There’s no point in sending him away if he’s already here.”

Sylvain loosens his grip on her and then offers her his arm. Ingrid slips her hand into the crook of his elbow and smooths over a wrinkle in his jacket. Sylvain nods to her and they walk together from the library towards the main hall. When they reach the top of the stairs, Sylvain stops and stares down into the main entrance hall, his expression twisting. 

Ingrid bites her lip, but she squeezes his arm, trying to reassure him. Before they can walk down the stairs, the Margravine looks up at them and smiles a practiced, fake smile at them. The Margrave does not look up at them, he’s too busy speaking with the mage dressed in black robes with a grave look on his face. 

Ingrid tugs on Sylvain’s arm, pulling him down the stairs with her as they approach Sylvain’s parents and the Crest expert. 

* * *

Sylvain helps her lie down on the bed in the medical bay of Castle Gautier. He smooths her hair out on her forehead and Ingrid rolls her eyes, swatting his hand away. 

“Sylvain, I’m pregnant, not incompetent,” she scolds. 

He chuckles. “You’re really going to raise a grievance against a man for loving his wife, huh?”

She snags his hand from her face and holds it down beside her side. She squeezes it and Sylvain shifts to stand more closely to her head as the Crest expert steps up. The man rolls up his sleeves and nods to both of them. 

“You may feel a slight tingle, but nothing beyond that and if you feel any pain, please do let me know,” the Crest expert says as he holds a hand out towards her stomach. 

Ingrid takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay.”

He pauses. “And to confirm, you are at least four months pregnant?” He reaches out to her shirt and hesitates again. “May I?”

Ingrid nods again. “Yes. I was confirmed as three months pregnant just over a month and a half ago. And, yes, do what you need to do.”

The Crest expert gives her a tight smile and then he proceeds. He carefully draws her shirt up to just under the curve of her chest, exposing the small bump in her abdomen. Sylvain’s thumb rubs reassuringly over the back of her hand. The mage draws a rune in the air above her stomach. Ingrid holds her breath as he works and Sylvain’s grip on her hand tightens. Both the Margrave and the Margravine lean in like they can’t help but try to get closer to the whole process. The rune starts to take shape, a faint amber colour as it rotates leisurely. 

With a last flick of his wrist, the mage finishes the rune and it sinks down until it rests flat against Ingrid’s stomach. She lets out a shaky breath at the cool sensation of the magic. It’s not like healing magic which is almost always warm. She watches as the amber-coloured rune glows brighter and then the colour abruptly changes to a brilliant red. 

Ingrid has no idea what this means. She looks up at Sylvain’s whose expression has relaxed into something that’s almost relief. A glance at the Margrave and Margravine confirm the suspicion that needles into her stomach as the Margravine’s lips press together in barely concealed disappointment, but the Margrave abruptly turns and marches out of the room, not even waiting for the official announcement. 

The mage nods as the red rune fades to nothing, leaving Ingrid with a faint cold chill across her stomach. “Well, your child does not bear a Crest as far as I can determine. There may be more tests to run after the child is born, but as of now, my only prediction is that the child will bear no Crest.”

“Thank you,” Sylvain says curtly. “You may take your leave now,” he dismisses. 

Though Sylvain is not yet the master of the house, he holds enough authority that the mage bows quickly and hurries from the room, leaving Ingrid and Sylvain with Sylvain’s mother who is staring at them with thinly veiled disappointment on her face. Ingrid watches Sylvain’s staring contest with his mother for a moment before she turns on her heel and marches out in the same way her husband had. 

Ingrid lets out a shaky breath and slowly pulls her top back down to cover her stomach. Sylvain sits on the edge of the bed and pulls her hand up to his mouth, kissing over their intertwined fingers. Ingrid gives him a faint smile as she watches him. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he promises. “I won’t let my father place that weight on our family,” he insists. “We are going to love our little one so overwhelmingly the only stories people will tell about them is how much their parents loved them.”

Ingrid laughs and wiggles her fingers in Sylvain’s hand. “Yeah? And what are you going to do if it’s a boy who doesn’t want anything to do with his father’s overbearing love?” she teases. 

Sylvain grins. “I’ll love him twice as hard. And he’ll probably come whining to his mother about his dad, but I won’t care because,” he pauses, leaning down to kiss her forehead, “he’ll be ours.”

Ingrid smiles wider, feeling better. “Yeah,” she says. She rests a hand on her stomach and nods. “Ours,” she agrees. “I like that.”

* * *

Ingrid is tired and heavy by the time that the trip to Fhirdiad comes around, but there is absolutely no way she is missing the opportunity to get away from Sylvain’s parents for a week. Sylvain frets over her twice as much during the journey from Gautier to Fhirdiad even though they take the carriage and it is one of the safest roads in the kingdom that they travel along. 

They haven’t told hardly any of their friends because of Ingrid’s insistence that it would be a lovely surprise for everyone when they met up in the capital. Sylvain had complained to her for hours about not being able to tell everyone, but she had conceded and let him write to Felix and Mercedes to chatter on about how excited he is for his little one to arrive. 

Mercedes had come out to visit two months ago and offered to try and figure out the gender of the child, but both Ingrid and Sylvain had agreed that they wanted it to be a surprise when it happens. Ingrid is starting to feel nervous about the whole thing since she’s due in just under a month, but she knows that she will be incredibly well looked after. 

She is holding her husband’s hand in her lap, just in front of her full bump as he stares out the window of the carriage as they get closer to Fhirdiad. She pinches the skin on the back of his hand and he jumps, snapping his head to look at her. 

“Is everything okay?”

Ingrid laughs at him. “Everything is fine, Sylvain, I just wanted to know if you had given any thought to our conversation from the other day.”

His eyes soften immediately. “Oh, the names. Well, if it’s a girl we are definitely naming her after your mother. That’s not even up for debate.”

Ingrid’s chest warms. “Your parents won’t be mad that it’s a Galatea name, not a Gautier one?”

Sylvain scoffs. “They’ll be furious, but I don’t care. Have you thought about middle names?”

“I think I like Margot,” Ingrid says. 

He beams. “I like it too. It’s a beautiful name.” 

He leans in to kiss her and Ingrid hums, tilting her head up into the kiss, dropping Sylvain’s hand so that she can cup his face. His hand drifts up to rub over her stomach lightly as he smiles. 

“I can’t wait to meet you,” he whispers against her lips and Ingrid giggles. 

She leans away from the kiss. “And what about names for a boy?”

“I still think we should go with Felix.”

She huffs, turning her face away. “ _ Felix _ would murder us. You know that.”

Sylvain laughs. “Yes, and that’s why we should do it."

* * *

The carriage rolls to a stop in front of the palace and Ingrid swallows back her nervousness. Sylvain squeezes her hand and opens the carriage door, climbing out. She slides across the bench seat and takes the hand that he offers her. Instinctively, she places one hand over her rounded belly as Sylvain carefully helps her down out of the carriage. 

Ingrid hears Annette before she sees her. The redhead’s gasp is loud and excited and she rushes forward immediately, bouncing on her toes as she just barely restrains herself from throwing her arms about Ingrid. Annette beams widely and looks between Sylvain and Ingrid. 

“Oh my goodness! Ingrid!”

Ingrid laughs and reaches out, pulling Annette into a hug. “Hello, Annette,” she says. 

Annette hugs her back tightly and then pulls back, carefully hovering a hand over Ingrid’s stomach. Her eyes are bright. “May I?”

Ingrid takes Annette’s hand and presses it flat against her bump. Annette giggles in excitement. 

“How did you guys keep this a secret for so long? I haven’t seen you since we were in Fraldarius! And Sylvain,” she says, turning to pull Ingrid’s husband into a fierce hug too, “I haven’t seen you in even longer.”

Ingrid laughs again. “It wasn’t a total secret,” she confesses, looking past Annette to where Mercedes and the others have mostly caught up with Annette who seems to have sprinted over to greet them. 

Mercedes and Felix look unsurprised to Ingrid as round as she is, but Ashe, Dedue, and Dimitri all look quite surprised. The rest of the group catches up and Ingrid hugs Mercedes and then Ashe and then pulls a mostly unwilling Felix into a hug too. He grumbles the whole time, but Ingrid knows that he is happy for them. 

“Wow,” Dimitri says, smiling broadly. “This isn’t exactly the kind of announcement I was expecting from you two.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes and pulls the King into a hug. As she lets him go, she straightens her blouse. “We’ve been married for over a year, Your Majesty.”

Dimitri’s cheeks pinken as he realizes what Ingrid is implying and Dedue pats Dimitri’s shoulder consolingly. Ingrid laughs and arms wind around her waist as Sylvain pulls her into his arms from behind. She twists, looking up at him and is happy to see him looking so relaxed and at ease here with their friends. 

* * *

One month later, Ingrid has never felt so disgusting and sore and exhausted as she has in the horrendous almost twelve-hour period of her labour. Sylvain stays with her for the entire time, holding her hand, kissing her face, and offering her words of reassurance. She’s pretty sure that she might have broken his hand when she finally has to push, but then it’s over and Mercedes is handing over a squirming, pink baby. 

Ingrid cries when she holds her daughter, staring down at the tiny eyes and nose and lips and ears of the little one that she and Sylvain had made. She laughs through her tears when her baby starts to feed and Sylvain kisses her head again, practically curling down against her to admire his child. 

As the baby feeds, he reaches out tentatively and lifts up each of her hands, counting all of her fingers before he moves on to her toes. It seems silly, but it does actually make them both feel better somehow. Ingrid cradles her daughter and smiles through her tears as she touches the damp, bright red curls atop the little girl’s head. 

“She’s beautiful, Ingrid,” Sylvain whispers. “You did so well.”

Ingrid is almost too tired to reply coherently, so she just tips her head until it rests against Sylvain’s shoulder where he is leaning over her. Sylvain kisses her temple and leans closer, studying their little girl. 

“Look at her hair, Sylvain,” Ingrid murmurs. “Just like yours.”

“What a shame,” he teases. 

She laughs and the movement of her chest jostles their little girl just enough that she starts to cry. Ingrid’s eyes widen in alarm. Sylvain looks just as startled and Mercedes laughs from the end of the bed as she walks around. She carefully adjusts Ingrid’s arms more tightly around the baby. 

“Just soothe her,” Mercedes urges. “Everything is fine. You did amazing, Ingrid.”

Ingrid looks down at her daughter again just as the tiny little human in her arms blinks open her eyes for the first time. Ingrid lets out an awed sigh as she sees the warm browns of Sylvain’s eyes peering up at her curiously. Ingrid carefully rocks the baby in her arms back and forth, feeling another tear roll down her cheek. 

“Hello there,” Sylvain murmurs, leaning in. “Look at your eyes, baby girl. They’re just like mine.”   


Ingrid swallows a sob as Sylvain continues murmuring affectionate words to their daughter. She rests her head against him and lets her eyes close for a second. She’s still absolutely wiped, but she’s so, so happy too. 

“Celine,” Sylvain whispers. “Our little Celine Margot Gautier.”

* * *

Sylvain wards off all of his father’s attempts to get Celine retested for a Crest and Ingrid finds that once she holds her daughter, nothing else matters: not the nobility, not what her in-laws think of her, not the state of the world. She finally understands what her mother had told her when she was just a child. 

Ingrid lies on her stomach on the floor of Celine’s room, humming to her little girl who is waving around a stuffed rabbit that Ashe had gifted them. She watches her daughter play and squeal and laugh and throw things around. When the bunny lands far enough away from Celine that she seems to lose track of it, Ingrid reaches out, nudging the bunny back to her daughter. 

Celine grabs it but continues to cry, so Ingrid sits up and gathers her little girl and the bunny into her arms, soothing her daughter until her cries fade to hiccups. Ingrid smiles and runs her hand through the little girl’s vibrant red hair. 

“I would do anything for you,” she murmurs quietly, repeating words that her mother had said to her years and years ago. 

Sylvain finds them like that a few hours later, Celine slumbering and drooling on top of Ingrid who is just holding their daughter. He lies down on the floor with them and pulls Ingrid into his chest, kissing her cheek and then kissing their daughter on the forehead. Ingrid closes her eyes and relishes in their little family. 

* * *

Dorothea and Petra come up to visit for Celine’s first birthday, bringing several very extravagant and unique gifts from Brigid. Their adopted daughter, Kaida, is three now and is more than a little curious about Celine who rather just seems terrified of the other girl, curling into Ingrid’s chest and refusing to let go.    


Sylvain offers to show Petra around Gautier while Ingrid and Dorothea take tea because she has never been this far north before. Dorothea shoos her wife off, sending Kaida with her, and drags Ingrid and Celine to the tea room. Ingrid sets Celine down in the high chair set up for her and places a small plate of soft fruits in front of her daughter. 

Dorothea laughs and shakes her head. “I still can’t believe you married Sylvain, much less had a kid with him.”   


Dorothea leans over and pokes Celine’s cheek lightly. Celine laughs and grabs at Dorothea’s hands and Ingrid watches Dorothea’s eyes practically melt as she lets the little girl hold onto her finger tightly as she giggles wildly. 

“Goddess, Ingrid, she’s so adorable. This is almost unfair. You and Sylvain are both so pretty so it’s really no surprise that your baby is adorable too.” She shakes her head, looking amused. “Sylvain’s going to have to beat off her suitors with a stick because everyone is going to want a piece of this little one.”   


Ingrid rolls her eyes. “I think we have a bit of time before we have suitors knocking on our door to marry our one-year-old daughter, Dorothea.”   


Dorothea winks. “Aw, don’t ruin my fun.”   


Ingrid laughs and reaches for the teacup, but then she pauses. “What kind of tea is this?” 

“Oh, it’s a black tea from Brigid.”   


Ingrid presses her lips together and lowers the teacup back to the saucer without taking a sip. She takes a tea cake from the tray to try and be inconspicuous, but Dorothea’s eyes narrow and she gently extracts her finger from Celine’s grip. 

“No,” she says, a smile creeping across her face. “Ingrid.”   


Ingrid looks down at the almond tea cake she’s holding as she feels her cheeks flush. “Dorothea,” she starts, but she’s cut off.

“You are pregnant again!” Dorothea leans forward. “Does Sylvain know?”

Ingrid shakes her head. “I’m not even sure that I am, I’ve just been feeling ill in the mornings and I’m tired, but,” she trails off, looking at Celine who is happily occupied by the little pieces of fruit that Ingrid had given her. “The tiredness is kind of constant.”

Dorothea smirks. “Ingrid, honey, you’re eating an almond tea cake. Your favourite is usually lavender, but you chose the almond one.” She leans back, taking a smug sip from her own teacup. “You should talk to your husband and probably get in touch with Mercedes.”

* * *

A month later, after a consultation with Mercedes, Ingrid knows for sure. Late one evening when they’re letting their bodies cool between the sheets, Ingrid rolls towards Sylvain, leaning over him and resting her chin against his shoulder. He hums to her, combing his fingers through her hair. 

“Hello beautiful,” he teases. 

She smiles at him. “Sylvain,” she says, “how would you feel about giving Celine a sibling in, say, seven months?”   


His eyes widen and his mouth curls into a wide smile. He shifts and Ingrid squeaks as he rolls her onto her back, pushing himself on top of her with a new vigour. He presses down and kisses her hard before he pulls back. His eyes are glimmering with excitement. 

“You’re pregnant again?” he asks. 

Ingrid nods, her smile widening as she bites her lip. Sylvain laughs happily and presses another bruising kiss to her lips. She sighs into the kiss as he deepens it, but then he pulls back and starts showering her entire face with light kisses. Ingrid giggles, trying to squirm away from him, but Sylvain is unrelenting as he laughs between kisses. 

He kisses up her cheek and then down onto her neck and he lingers, dragging his mouth down more slowly. She lets out a breathy sigh and tugs at his hair, but Sylvain’s sleepiness has apparently been driven away by the excitement of the news she had shared. She tilts her head further and smiles as he continues his work.

* * *

It’s less of a parade to convince Sylvain to let them get the second child tested for a Crest. Sylvain’s parents seem to have renewed faith in Ingrid when she had announced her second pregnancy, even if she still feels uneasy every time she is around them with her daughter. 

This time, they call the Crest expert immediately. The man claims that while they can probably sense a Crest in the child at three and a half months, there are no guarantees that the results will be accurate, as it may give a false positive, detecting Ingrid’s own Crest. Ingrid agrees to it, rationalizing that at the very least, knowing the results early will get Sylvain’s parents off of her back sooner in the pregnancy. 

Other than that, the process goes much the same this time, but this time Sylvain holds Celine in one arm and Ingrid’s hand with the other as the Crest expert slowly rolls up her shirt to expose her stomach and begins the process.    


Celine pulls on her dad’s hair and shirt as she whines, not understanding why the strange man was touching her mother, but Sylvain is able to carefully shush her as the rune spins into place and sinks down onto Ingrid’s stomach. Ingrid waits for it to turn red as it had with Celine, but, instead, its shape warps until it's the shape of the Crest of Gautier and it glows green. 

Ingrid’s stomach sinks and she looks at Sylvain with panicked eyes. He looks just as caught off guard as she feels, staring in alarm at the still faintly glowing green mark before it fades away. 

“Well?” the Margrave demands. “Does that mean what I think it does?”   


The Crest expert looks hesitantly between Sylvain and Ingrid, obviously noting their hesitancy and surprise at the results of the test. He stands up, facing Sylvain’s father, and nods. “Yes, as far as I’m aware, the child will bear the Crest of Gautier.”

“And it’s not a false positive?” the Margravine asks. 

The Crest expert glances at Ingrid and she sees pity curling in his gaze for a moment. “Since the mother carries the Crest of Daphnel, no, there should be no way that this is a false positive.”

“Thank you,” Sylvain cuts in abruptly, dropping Ingrid’s hand. “Now, if we may have a moment of privacy, I would greatly appreciate that.” 

The mage immediately moves to leave the room, but both of Sylvain’s parents hesitate. His mother looks smug and his father looks arrogantly victorious and Ingrid immediately looks away, settling her hands over her stomach. There is barely a bump right now, but there will be soon enough and this child will bear a Crest. 

Sylvain sits on the edge of the bed next to her, frowning and Celine immediately reaches for Ingrid. 

“Momma!” she whines.

Ingrid gives her daughter a watery smile, reaching out to take her daughter into her arms. Celine lifts a hand and places a tiny hand on Ingrid’s cheek, just below her eye and Ingrid laughs lightly at her daughter’s touch. 

Celine frowns. “Sad,” she notes, poking Ingrid’s cheek. 

Ingrid looks up at Sylvain. He smiles at her. “Hey,” he says, “remember, we’re fucking their tradition anyway.”   


Ingrid frowns and looks pointedly at Celine, silently reprimanding her husband’s language. 

He leans forward, kissing her forehead. “It doesn’t matter, Ingrid,” he promises. “Crest or no Crest, it won’t matter.” He plays with a lock of Celine’s hair until she fusses, grabbing at his hand. “Besides, we already made one perfect baby, so I’m sure our next one will be perfect too.”

* * *

Ingrid had thought her first pregnancy made her tired, but her second makes it feel like she hasn’t slept in weeks. Between her violent morning sickness and the cramps she gets in her legs and stomach, she’s always uncomfortable. She doesn’t tell Sylvain about the severity of her symptoms because he has enough to deal with as his father finally starts to begin the process of passing the official title to him. 

Ingrid doesn’t mention how his father hadn’t seemed interested in retiring until the Crest expert had found the Crest of Gautier. She knows that Sylvain doesn’t need that needling in his mind as he focuses on taking over his father’s duties. She knows that Sylvain and Felix and Dimitri and their whole class and generation are interested in pushing away the importance of Crests and Relics and rebuilding Faerghus and all of Fódlan in a new image. 

She spends a lot of time with her little girl who is starting to babble more and more. She had settled on ‘Momma’ and ‘Dada’ three months ago, but now she’s learning to talk about other things which involves a lot of pointing and demanding ‘What’ over and over again. Ingrid finds it endlessly adorable and amusing. 

It’s a fall afternoon when Ingrid hands Celine off to her nurse so that she can take a brief personal break before dinner. She hums to herself as she goes into the bathroom attached to hers and Sylvain’s bedroom. She washes her face and rubs away some of the faded makeup on her face before she reaches for the drawer to the right of the basin when a cramp pinches her stomach.

Ingrid stops, leaning against the counter as she takes a deep breath, furrowing her brow as the pain in her stomach intensifies. She lets out a shaky breath and flattens a hand against her stomach, pushing lightly to try and find the source of the pain. It’s radiating from her lower stomach and a spasm passing through her so intensely that her legs buckle. 

Ingrid cries out as she collapses to the ground. She leans back against the cupboard, whining from the pain still sparking in her stomach. This pain feels familiar in a terrifying way and Ingrid clamps her hands on her stomach and starts to scream.    


“Sylvain!”

She yells for him until her throat burns and her body spasms again as the muscles of her abdomen ripple in a terrifyingly familiar way. Ingrid is crying on the floor of the bathroom by the time that Sylvain crashes into the room, looking frantic and terrified as he drops to his knees, gathering her into his arms, his eyes wide. 

“Ingrid!” he cries. His hands waver over her. “What’s happening?”   


She grips his arm tightly as another contraction wracks her body and she can’t do much more than tremble and cry against him until it’s over. 

* * *

Sylvain brings Celine to their room after Ingrid is cleaned up and once they’re sure that she’s safe. Ingrid snuggles with her daughter in the bed, much to the little girl’s displeasure. Ingrid bundles up under the blankets, touching her daughter like she needs an anchor. Sylvain spends some time with her in the bed, showering her in kisses and holding onto her until his father comes knocking. 

He forces his father back out into the hallway and despite the heavy wooden door between them, Ingrid can hear both men shouting. She cups her hands over Celine’s ears and winces when Sylvain’s father’s voice carries into the room. 

“She lost it?” he demands. “How could she have lost it?”

“It’s not her fault!” Sylvain snarls in response. “It’s a traumatic event and it has nothing to do with what Ingrid did or didn’t do!”

“She’s your wife! You should be able to control her and keep her safer. She’s lost your chance at a real heir!” Margrave Gautier spits back. 

Ingrid pulls Celine into her chest and starts humming and rocking her daughter back and forth as tears prick in her eyes. She doesn’t hear Sylvain respond verbally to his father, but over her hums, she hears what sounds like a struggle. She tenses, stopping the rocking motion and Celine squirms against her, wriggling and complaining until Ingrid loosens her grip. 

The door to their bedroom slams open and then shut behind Sylvain and Ingrid watches him stalk into the adjoining bathroom which has just been cleaned by the Castle’s staff. He returns quickly after that point, his face damp and a new bruise blooming on his cheek.    


Ingrid’s breath catches as he crawls on the bed towards her, scooping up Celine and kissing her cheek before he also draws Ingrid into his arms as he leans back against the headboard, cradling his family in his arms. Ingrid turns, touching the new bruise lightly as she frowns. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Sylvain murmurs. “I hit him first. I don’t care.”   


Ingrid lets out a half-sob, half-laugh and touches Celine. “I’m sorry, Sylvain.”   


“No,” he says fiercely, kissing the top of her head. “Ingrid, this is not your fault at all. Do not blame yourself for this.”

Sylvain’s arms tighten around her and Celine. She leans into him as tears roll down her cheeks. Celine whines at her father’s tight hug, twisting until she’s face-to-face with Ingrid. Her complaints cut off abruptly and she lifts her little hands to Ingrid’s face, touching her cheeks. 

“Momma sad,” she whimpers. 

“Yes, baby,” Ingrid replies, smiling sadly. “Momma and Dada are sad right now.”

* * *

It had been a combination of environmental and emotional stresses and previous effects carried over from the war that had caused her to lose the child, Mercedes had confirmed. She had come up to Gautier as soon as she had gotten the letter and Ingrid had spent another entire day in tears. 

It is a devastating feeling to know that a person, a member of her family, had been ripped away from her. Celine, of course, has no idea why both Ingrid and Sylvain have been upset and she keeps trying to make them feel better, but she’s just a baby still, so sometimes Ingrid has to hand her off to a nurse before she breaks down completely. 

It had been a stressful few weeks following the incident, but Mercedes has assured them that everything that had happened is normal for the way that things proceeded. She had also promised them that there is a chance that Ingrid can, if they want, get pregnant again. 

It’s probably the furthest thing from her mind as she curls up in bed at night, her back to Sylvain. He rolls towards her, curling his arms around her and they lay quietly, wrapped in each other's arms, grieving for the little baby that they had never gotten to meet. 

Sylvain hums into the back of her neck and Ingrid curls her hands over his, closing her eyes and just breathing deeply. 

“I love you, Ingrid,” he says. “Nothing changes that. I promise.”   


“I couldn’t even hold her today, Sylvain,” she murmurs. “I couldn’t do it.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “Ingrid, nobody expects you to be okay, least of all me.” His lips press against the top of her spine on the back of her neck. “We’ll do this together,” he promises into her skin. 

Ingrid rolls back towards him. “What if we can’t? What if I can’t have another baby, Sylvain?”

“Then we treasure the one we have,” he says firmly. “We love Celine with all our hearts and we do it together. We tell my parents to fuck off and we change the world and we love our baby girl with everything we have.”

She touches the side of his face, her eyes prickling with tears, but she smiles. “Yeah, okay,” she agrees.    


“I’ll still love you, you know,” Sylvain says. “I love you more and more every day and I’ll never regret marrying you, no matter what my parents say.”   


She rubs his cheekbone. “I wish you didn’t have to choose.”   


“I’d choose you in a heartbeat.” He tilts his head up and captures her lips in a gentle kiss. “We’re making change, Ingrid. Next year, when my father steps down, we can call for the collection of the Relics at Garreg Mach. I know Byleth would support the idea.”

Ingrid presses their lips together more firmly. “I love you. I love you and your ideas and your ideals and everything about you.”   


Sylvain smiles into the kiss and his arms pull her down against his chest and he cups the back of her head. “Everything I am is because of you,” he whispers. 

“I love you,” she repeats. “Unconditionally.”

* * *

Celine turns two and then eight months have passed and Ingrid’s heart has finally begun to accept the loss. She watches her daughter toddle through the halls, laughing wildly as she pulls on her mother’s hand or her father’s hair and she sees more of her friends get married and Annette announces her own pregnancy.    


Sylvain’s father retires and Sylvain practically orders his parents out of the main manor, sending them to the property at the southern end of Gautier territory, telling them only to visit when they have to and Ingrid has never been more proud of them. 

Or of her daughter when Celine scowls and sticks her tongue out at the carriage as it rumbles away down the road. 

Later that afternoon, Ingrid drops Celine off with her nurse and goes looking for her husband. He’s in his study, as she expects and she enters without knocking. She walks over and perches on the edge of his desk until he looks up from the paperwork he’s working on, a tired crease between his eyes. 

She smiles at him and pushes his paperwork aside. Sylvain sighs.    


“Ingrid, I have to finish that.”   


“Mmm,” she hums. “I have something more important for you to do.”   


He raises an eyebrow and leans back in his chair. Ingrid follows him, leaning over him, smiling. Sylvain reaches for her hand and tangles their fingers together. “Something more important, huh?” 

She leans in, lightly brushing their lips together. “Very important,” she agrees. 

“Did you lock the door?” he breathes into the kiss. 

“Of course I did.”

* * *

“Mom! Noelle bit me!” Celine complains, folding her arms.    


Ingrid sighs and looks up from the letter she’s penning to Felix. “Girls, come on,” she urges. 

She looks at her second youngest daughter, Noelle, who is the only one of four who didn’t inherit Sylvain’s bright red hair. She has his eyes though and Ingrid almost caves to the pleading look that her daughter gives her.    


“Noelle, we don’t bite our sisters, okay?”   


The three-year-old pouts and Ingrid laughs. She holds out her arms and Noelle runs into them, hugging her tightly. Ingrid looks over her to Celine and wiggles her fingers at the nine-year-old. Celine hesitates for a moment, feeling stubborn, before she caves and follows her sister into Ingrid’s embrace. 

The door to the room creaks as it opens and Ingrid looks up from the hug to see Sylvain entering the room, his arms full of their other two girls. She laughs and releases Noelle and Celine. 

“Look who it is,” she teases.

Noelle brightens immediately. “Daddy!” she shrieks and she throws herself at Sylvain, clinging to his right leg. 

Celine follows her sister over as well, hugging him around the middle and Ingrid trails after her daughters. Sylvain almost immediately offloads their littlest girl, Madeleine, with her bright red hair and green eyes to her and Ingrid kisses her daughter on the cheek. 

“Hi Mommy!” Rhiannon chirps, the six-year-old waving from where she clings to her father. 

“Hi baby,” Ingrid teases. 

“Hi,” Sylvain says, leaning forward to kiss her lightly. 

“Ew!” Madeleine exclaims loudly. Ingrid laughs when they pull back out of the kiss. She’s only one and a half but she's already got more spunk thank Noelle and Rhiannon combined.

“Madi, you don’t like it when Mommy and Daddy kiss?” Sylvain teases, kissing his daughter. 

She shrieks and then the other three girls are laughing and yanking on Sylvain’s various arms and legs. Ingrid laughs too and leans into Sylvain as he wraps his arms around her and holds their whole family together. Ingrid closes her eyes and smiles. 

She is safe and at home and she is surrounded by her loved ones. Not one of her girls bears a Crest, but it doesn’t matter. Sylvain and Dimitri had just struck out the last of the legislation putting importance on Crests and she hardly ever has to see Sylvain’s parents.

“I love you,” Ingrid whispers in Sylvain’s ear through the tangle of little girl limbs and laughter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said to Sunni, the one who inspired me to write this in the first place, Sylvain is definitely the guy who ends up with 4 daughters: one clinging from each limb. 
> 
> The girls' names, from oldest to youngest:  
> \- Celine Margot Gautier - Celine meaning heavenly and Margot meaning pearl  
> \- Rhiannon Gabrielle Gautier - Rhiannon meaning great queen (a name often associated with miracles, especially miracles of fertility) and Gabrielle meaning messenger of the goddess  
> \- Noelle Aline Gautier - Noelle simply means Christmas, but it's just a beautiful French name and Aline means shining and beautiful  
> \- Madeleine Grace Gautier - Madeleine meaning women from high tower and Grace meaning gracious
> 
> I put entirely too much thought into the names which you can probably infer, but I drew from mostly French and Welsh sources.


End file.
